i think i really detest thursdays.
paper crumpled.
taking up less space in the universe.
already small, its made even more insignificant.
cynicism and unbelief: the hand that crushes.
no one dares to expect; we are all cowards.
what is the use, to smooth it out again.
when there will only be creases and dents in those dreams and ideals.
they can never be the same, stained by jade and an elderly sigh.
maybe soon enough, they will cease to resist.
maybe soon enough, i will succumb.
surrendering to the chains of reality that bind my heart and seal my lips.
brought down to my knees, removed of hope, despaired.
when you try your best but you dont succeed.
when you get what you want but not what you need.
when you feel so tired but you cant sleep.
stuck in reverse.
get your head out of the clouds, they'd say.
i am a dreamer, a fool.
but i speak not of a departure from practicality, much less a constant striving toward a fairytale.
clearly, a purely fantastical outlook on life is at odds with the demands for pragmatism in the real world.
but as so many of us do, we escape from these demands from time to time with a book, a hobby, a movie, a lover.
time to time, underscored.
dormancy.
i leave this place.
i woke up feeling heavy-hearted
i'm going back to where i started
the morning rain, the morning rain
although i wish that you were here
that same old road that brought me here
is calling me home.
perfection at 5:50 PM
